


Negotiations and Love Songs

by brynnmck



Category: due South
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-13
Updated: 2007-02-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 17:52:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynnmck/pseuds/brynnmck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> This wasn't how it was supposed to be, dammit.  Almost since they'd met, he and Fraser had just </i>clicked<i>.  Partners.  Simpatico.  Sure, Fraser was crazy and Ray didn't use his turn signals, but basically, they fit, they always had. Until.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Negotiations and Love Songs

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://sdwolfpup.livejournal.com/profile)[**sdwolfpup**](http://sdwolfpup.livejournal.com/) for the beta, hand-holding, and listening to me bitch and agonize about this for roughly an eternity. And thanks to [](http://fahye.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://fahye.livejournal.com/)**fahye** for some very helpful nitpicking, even if the porn scared her off. ;)

Ray lay flat out on the roof, his shirt covered in tar and his world narrowed to the sight on his gun and the scumbag it was pointed at. Colin Macready wasn't quite in the same league as the Donnellys, but for a small-time crook, he had big-time friends. And many of those friends carried big-time weapons, many of which were currently pointed at little Jimmy Curran, an even smaller-time crook who'd been willing to sell out Macready for some leniency on possession charges.

 _Oh, what a tangled web we weave_ , Ray thought, a little smugly, taking his eyes off Macready just long enough to check Fraser's position. He caught a flash of brown wool and polished brass down near one of the shipping crates; good. Ray would take out Macready, and Fraser could jump into the confusion afterwards and clean up the mess while the cavalry arrived. As if he could hear Ray's thoughts, Fraser looked up from his crouch and nodded once.

Ray nodded back and turned his attention back to his target. And just as he was getting ready to squeeze the trigger, Fraser jumped out from behind the crate and launched himself at Macready. Ray's heart froze in his chest as he heard the crack of a gunshot, watched Fraser tumble to the ground with Macready on top of him. There was immediate chaos around them, Macready's boys scrambling for cover and the white blur of Diefenbaker streaking through the alley, shouts and wild barking that Ray could hardly hear over the panic in his head, _Please please please please please…_ His finger shook on the trigger; he didn't have a clear shot at anyone, and by the time he got to the ground it would be over. He was useless, completely useless, and all he could do was watch while everything that wasn't Fraser's prone body faded to gray around him. _Please please please please please…_

Then Fraser heaved Macready off him and rolled over, and Ray's heart jolted back to motion again, pounding against his ribs like a beating. The whine of sirens wove through the air; there was their backup, right on time. As the alley filled with blue uniforms and sharp cries of "Freeze! Chicago PD!" Ray rolled onto his back on the roof and tried to remember how to breathe.

After they'd given their statements and promised to file reports in the morning, they sat in the Riv in silence for a few minutes. The sun was setting, red in the Chicago smog. Ray could still feel adrenaline shuddering through his veins.

"I'm gonna stop in at my place before I drop you off," he said finally. "I'm getting tar all over the upholstery here."

"All right," Fraser answered, and that was the end of the conversation.

 

 

*****

 

Diefenbaker rushed past them into the house, his claws scrabbling on the hardwood, in hot and dedicated pursuit of any junk food that one of the kids might have left lying around. In Dief's wake, Fraser stood in the living room like he was at parade rest, like a statue. Ray forced himself to take a deep breath.

"I'm gonna go change. Just…" He waved a hand. "You know. Hang out. I won't be long."

Fraser nodded. "Very good, Ray."

The silence hung awkwardly between them. "OK," Ray said abruptly, and headed up to his room with a different curse ringing in his head for every stair.

 _God, this is stupid_ , he thought furiously as he stood in front of his closet. He yanked his shirt out of his pants, shrugged it off without bothering to unbutton it, and threw it on the floor in his closet on top of all his other clothes that Fraser had ruined. It was a depressingly large pile; he hoped St. Joseph's was having a clothing drive soon so he could at least offload it for a good cause. He pulled out a clean shirt and buttoned it absentmindedly while his mind churned and snarled.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be, dammit. Almost since they'd met, he and Fraser had just _clicked_. Partners. Simpatico. Sure, Fraser was crazy and Ray didn't use his turn signals, but basically, they fit, they always had. And Ray liked that, depended on that; a guy needed a best friend, and they'd been going along just fine, solving all of Fraser's cases and even a few of Ray's, fighting the good fight, day in and day out on the mean streets of Chicago, until….

Until.

Until several weeks ago when they'd been celebrating Carver's arrest (a nice bottle of red for Ray, and a nice bottle of sparkling cider for Fraser) and Ray had somehow gone from helping Fraser with the dinner dishes to coming in his pants while Fraser pressed him up against the refrigerator and did things with his tongue in Ray's mouth that no human should've been able to do. Fraser had gotten off, too—Ray was clinging to that certainty for a variety of reasons—and afterwards they had just kind of stood there, panting and speechless, and it wasn't that Ray had been _sorry_ so much as that he'd been knocked on his ass, and he'd stammered something stupid and Fraser had stammered something stupid and it had ended in Ray driving home with shaking hands and sticky shorts like he was fucking sixteen years old again, messing around with Shawn Maguire down by the lake at summer camp.

 _Stupid_ , he repeated to himself, sliding his badge off his belt and tossing it on top of his dresser.

And then the next day, Ray hadn't known how to bring it up— _sorry about dry-humping you in your kitchen, Benny; wanna grab some lunch?_ —and Fraser hadn't seemed too hot to talk about it, either, and one day had turned into three had turned into a week and they still hadn't talked about it, and Ray started to think that it was possible they were never going to. Which might have been OK except that their usual rhythm was stuttering when Ray least expected it; he'd break left and Fraser would break right and they'd lose a suspect, or they'd get their signals crossed in front of Welsh, or they'd be working at Ray's desk and Ray would lose the sense of what Fraser was saying, fixated on the motion of his mouth and his tongue. It was like falling into a hole every few steps. The thing with Bolt had helped some, oddly enough—Ray wasn't sure what it said about his and Fraser's friendship that crazy guys with plastic explosives apparently functioned as their therapists—but that had ended with Fraser sending smoke signals to the Dragon Lady and Ray had played it off but he'd been _jealous_ , so jealous he could hardly swallow, and he hated it but things were different and he didn't know how to find the reset button. And the worst part of it was that Fraser didn't seem to notice, just kept on galloping around the city on his implied white horse, saving the world one street urchin at a time while Ray trailed behind him trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

 _Rookie mistake, Vecchio, getting involved with your partner_ , his internal lecture continued as he dug in his pocket for his heavy set of station keys. _You know better._

And then today. Another insane standoff and another bullet that could've had Fraser's name on it and there was Fraser, damn bullheaded Mountie jumping into the line of fire like Ray wasn't even _there_ —

He slammed his keys down on the dresser with a crack.

"Ray."

Ray's overstretched nerves had him jolting internally at the sound, but he kept his game face on, turned to face Fraser standing in his doorway. At some point while he'd been downstairs, Fraser had taken off his jacket, and the sleeves of his tan shirt were rolled up over his forearms, and that really wasn't helping Ray's nerves, either. "What's up, Fraser?" he asked shortly.

"I was hoping you would tell me."

Ray shook his head and turned away. "I'm changing, I'm dropping you off at your apartment, and then I'm coming back here and embracing sweet unconsciousness for the few hours I have left before I have to go back to work."

"That's not what I mean," Fraser said, and there was just enough patented Fraser restrained disapproval in his tone to spin Ray around, danger tightening his muscles.

"You don't want to do this, Fraser," he gritted.

"Ray, if I've done something—"

And suddenly, all the tension of the past few weeks burst inside Ray like a spring. "Yeah, you did something," he interrupted. "You did something today, just like you always do something, and forget whether _I_ might want to do something, right?"

Fraser looked startled, then, after a pause, "Ray, I told you, we're all saints, and we're all villains. I thought we—"

Ray held up a warning finger. "No. No! That's not what this is about."

"Then what is it about?"

"This is about you jumping out of windows and hanging off cars and getting shot and stabbed and frozen and fried and never letting me—" He stopped, feeling a flush creeping up the back of his neck.

Fraser just looked at him, his expression unreadable. "Ray."

"Don't you ever _need_ anything, Fraser?" Ray threw out his arms, the words pouring out of him on a wave of frustration. "I mean, you are human, right? Don't you ever just get _tired_?"

Fraser's face barely moved, but Ray could see the conflict in his eyes, the first hints of panic, like Ray was asking him to choose saving one victim over another. His breath was coming faster, too, his perfectly knotted tie rising and falling with the motion of his chest. Ray sighed, struggled to rein in his temper. "Benny, I'm not… Look, you're you, OK? I know that. You're always going to be helping old ladies and throwing yourself in front of bullets to save pet hamsters and making bad guys cry with your Inuit stories. I get that. It scares the shit out of me, but I get it. But how come _you_ always gotta be the one in front of the bullet?"

"I seem to recall you being in front of the bullet on one particular occasion." Fraser's voice was low and calm, but there was rigid tension in the line of his jaw. Ray flinched before he could stop it; that was the last thing he wanted to talk about right now.

"That was different," he said quietly. "I owed you."

Fraser looked like he wanted to argue that, but for once, he kept his mouth shut and just shrugged a little. "All right. Carver, then."

Ray shook his head. "That was personal. That was my fight, just like Gerard was yours."

"Frank Zuko."

" _Fraser._ " It was a warning, sharp and automatic. That was dangerous territory still, and Fraser knew it.

In fact, Ray suspected Fraser had done it on purpose; there was something a little wild in his eyes now, and Ray was glad for reasons he couldn't even begin to untangle.

"Well, what do you want from me, Ray?" Fraser was asking him, his infuriating calm starting to crack, steam vents hissing open in a volcano. Ray could feel his own pulse beating in his throat, in his head.

"What do I—" He huffed out an incredulous laugh. Jesus. What did he want from Fraser? What he _didn't_ want from Fraser was a hell of a lot shorter list, but that wasn't the point, either. _Everybody_ wanted things from Fraser, that was half the damn problem, and Ray was moving toward him before he could think about it. "I want you to stop playing Superman all the time," he said, his finger inches from Fraser's chest. "I want you to give the strong, silent hero crap a rest once in a while. You be Mr. Perfect to the rest of the world, that's fine, but I'm your partner and your best friend, and you gotta start trusting me before you get your stupid Mountie ass shot off."

Fraser's jaw dropped. "Trusting you?" he repeated. "Ray, I put my life in your hands every day."

"Yeah, you jump out a window, and you trust that I'm gonna follow," Ray shot back, somewhere in the no-man's-land between rueful and pissed. Fraser opened his mouth, but Ray rode right over him. "And that's good, Benny, you should trust that, because I _will_ do that, but it's been two years and I'm getting pretty damn tired of watching you do your thing while I stand around behind you, praying that this won't be the day that the patron saint of crazy Canadians happens to be looking the other way." He stepped even closer now and Fraser's eyes were like fire in the dim room; he couldn’t look away. "I had the shot today. You don’t work alone anymore, and if you keep acting like you do, you're gonna get yourself killed. And I don't see how I'm supposed to be able to live with that."

Fraser didn't speak for a long moment. Ray could see his throat working as he swallowed. Finally, he managed, "Ray, my duty is a sacred trust, and I can't in good conscience share that burden—"

And that was it. "Jesus, Fraser!" Ray shouted, throwing his hands up in the air. "You really can't let go, can you? Like the world's gonna end if you let yourself be human for one damn second. Christ, if this is what all Mounties are like, I've never been so glad to be an American citizen." He shook his head, felt his hands clench into fists at his sides. "Yeah, you don't need me, you got your wolf and your motto and your empty gun and your perfect damn control—what the hell _would_ you need me for? Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go beat the crap out of something big and red." He turned on his heel, started to storm out even though it was his room, dammit, but that was Fraser, just talked and reasoned and drove you nuts until—

Until he grabbed you, spun you around, and kissed the holy hell out of you, apparently.

Ray could have sworn he heard something go _pop_ in his brain as all of his anger spiked abruptly into lust, and then he was giving as good as he got, his hands tight on Fraser's hips and his tongue eagerly re-discovering all the flavors of Fraser's mouth. It had been weeks; it had been an _eternity_. When Fraser pulled away, it took Ray a few seconds to put the floor, the ceiling, and all the walls in their proper places. When he'd accomplished that, he thought he could try forming words. "Well," he said, breathing hard.

Fraser nodded a little, his cheeks flushed and his mouth swollen. "Yes," he replied. "Apparently."

The response was so ridiculous, so perfectly, insanely _Fraser_ that Ray couldn't help it; a chuckle bubbled up in his throat and he let it, and after a few stunned seconds Fraser joined him, and they stood there, breathless and laughing in the middle of Ray's bedroom.

"I do, you know," Fraser said quietly, when they'd gotten themselves under control.

"You do what?" Ray's head was still spinning; he was having trouble finding the thread of the conversation again.

"I do get tired, Ray."

Ray closed his eyes against the sudden contraction in his heart. Words were Fraser's best weapon, and he was a crack shot, had been since the day they'd met. He sighed again and opened his eyes. "Then let me help you, you moron. For a smart guy, you're pretty dim sometimes, you know that?"

Fraser's mouth curved on one side. "It's been said."

Ray hesitated for a second, his heart starting to hammer, then moved forward gradually—one step, two, three—until he could put one hand along Fraser's jaw, curved around the back of his neck, and pull Fraser's mouth to his. The kiss was slow and careful, deliberate after the shock of the previous one, and it turned out that slow and careful was every bit as room-rearranging as desperate and half-pissed-off. Ray slid his fingers into Fraser's thick hair, changed the angle of the kiss, questioning: _so we're really gonna do this, huh?_ Fraser's hands closed around the leather of Ray's belt where it stretched across his back, pulling him closer, groaning _"Yes"_ into Ray's mouth as their cocks brushed together and that was it, Ray could've been struck by lightning right then and he would have died a happy man.

Of course, he didn't have any objection to sticking around to see what happened next, either, especially when it involved opening his mouth wider, diving deeper, letting everything he'd been keeping locked down for weeks come boiling to the surface. He eventually pulled back to breathe, but that didn't work out so well, what with the tiny, disappointed sound Fraser made and the sight of the guy who came out of dumpsters like they were dry cleaners looking at him with wide, hot eyes and his mouth wet and his hair slightly mussed from Ray's fingers. _Holy shit_ , was all Ray could think, _I can't believe I wasted two fucking years_ not _doing this._ He felt a possessive, protective thrill, and he didn't want to waste any more time, wanted to resolve this once and for all. A quick and vivid image flashed into his mind; he shivered with it, with the knowledge of exactly what he wanted to do. He moved his thumb a bit, back and forth across the line of Fraser's jaw.

"You trust me, Benny?" he asked, fighting to keep his voice steady.

Fraser nodded immediately, a little jerkily, his tongue just visible through his parted lips. "Yes."

 _Holy shit_ , Ray thought again, but he wouldn't back down now, so he kept his cool and just nodded back. "OK," he said. "Lie down on the bed."

Heat flared in Fraser's eyes, like a gust of air to a campfire, and he nodded again. A few seconds later Ray was waiting for his alarm to start going off and wake him up, because this could not be happening to him, having Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police stretched out on his bed like a damn feast of everything Ray had wanted for much longer than he'd been willing to admit.

 _Get it together,_ he told himself firmly, _don't fuck this up._ He crossed slowly to the bed, rested one knee on it while he considered his options. He thought briefly about his handcuffs, sitting on the dresser next to his keys and his badge, but then a different idea struck him. He slid a hand underneath the waistband of Fraser's pants, felt the hard stomach muscles tense against his fingers as he slipped one of the suspenders free of its buttons. "These things drive me nuts, you know that?" Ray murmured, loosening the other side now. "They're like… handles, or something." He grabbed one strap in each hand and used them to tug Fraser into a sitting position, kissed him hungrily while Ray's hands followed the line of the suspenders down Fraser's solid back, down to the final set of buttons. Unfastening them without looking was a little bit of a challenge, especially with Fraser's talented tongue distracting him, but Ray had learned how to unhook a bra with one hand from Constance Valerio in the eleventh grade, and he figured he could handle this.

When the straps came free, he brought his hands to Fraser's chest and pushed him back onto the bed. Holding Fraser's gaze, he deliberately drew his partner's wrists up to where the wood of the headboard divided into slats near the mattress, wrapped the suspenders around them and tied them as securely as he could. He knew from painful experience that not much could keep this particular Mountie from going anywhere he wanted to go, up to and including several stories straight down, but Ray was making a point, and Fraser was pretty good at reading signs. Sure enough, Fraser didn't make a move, just watched him, his rapid breathing loud in the quiet room and his pupils wide and dilated.

"I do anything you don't like, you tell me, OK?" Ray said, surprised at how hoarse his own voice was, and Fraser whispered,

"OK."

Ray hooked two fingers into the knot of Fraser's tie and pulled. "'Course," he continued, leaning down to scrape his teeth along the side of Fraser's throat, "I can't guarantee that I'll stop…"

Fraser's chest rose sharply against his hand, and Ray grinned, fierce and glad. Suddenly starving, aching and impatient, he yanked the tie off with both hands, half-tore at the buttons of Fraser's starched shirt, pushed aside the clean white cotton beneath so he could get to skin, pale and smooth under his tongue. He could feel the muscle jumping erratically as he dragged his mouth across Fraser's stomach and ribs. But Fraser was silent aside from ragged breaths, and when Ray looked up, his partner's head was thrown back, mouth open, eyes clenched closed and his face taut with concentration.

Ray frowned.

"Hey," he said, tightening his fingers in the fabric of Fraser's shirt and shaking a little. "This wasn't the deal, Benny." He swung his leg over Fraser's hips, crouched over him with a hand on either side of his face. "Look at me," he insisted. Fraser obeyed, his eyes glazed with lust but still hidden somehow, still guarded. "Do you want this?" Ray demanded, his frustration surging back. Tied up and half-naked, and the Mountie still owned him, and Ray _wanted_ so bad he could taste it, wanted to mess him up, crack him open, get _inside_ for once. He was so fucking tired of being on the outside.

"Of course," Fraser answered, but he was still holding back, and Ray gritted his teeth.

"Tell me."

Fraser blinked up at him. "I want this."

"Want what?" Ray pressed.

"I want…" Fraser licked his lips, his eyes darting briefly to the side. "I want you to touch me, Ray."

"Oh, yeah?" Ray leaned in again, ran his tongue carefully along the edge of Fraser's ear. "Like this?" he whispered, and felt his friend shudder beneath him.

"Yes."

Ray moved down far enough that he could take one flat nipple between his teeth. "Like this?" he repeated, his tongue sliding against skin again as he spoke.

_"Yes."_

"Like this?" Ray shifted his hips so that his cock slid hard against Fraser's, and _holy fucking shit_ — His head dropped to his chest automatically, his eyelids fluttering closed on a groan.

"Ray, please—I don't—I can't—" Fraser's voice had a panicked edge, slicing through the haze of sensation. Ray's eyes snapped open immediately. The look on Fraser's face slammed into him like a right hook, need and hope and desperation and— _goddamn_ it—just enough fear to make Ray vow for the thousandth time that if he ever saw Victoria again, he was gonna make her _wish_ he'd only shot her.

"Hey," Ray said again, smoothing his thumbs over Fraser's cheekbones, feeling the pulse racing in his neck. "It's just us here, OK? Just you and me." Despite everything, a rueful grin quirked up one side of his mouth. "Jeez, Fraser, you throw yourself at moving cars all the time, and this is too much for you?" Fraser relaxed a little, an answering smile hovering around the edges of his lips. Ray shook his head. "I ever let you down, Benny?"

The smile broke through, small but unmistakable. "No."

Ray raised an eyebrow. "Except once, right?"

Fraser's face was already flushed, but Ray watched with some fascination as it got even redder. "Ray, at that particular time, I was trying to draw your attention away from our impending death, and if, in the service of that, I happened to _exaggerate_ —"

"Aha! So you admit it." Ray was surprised at the satisfaction in his own voice; he'd mainly meant this as a distraction of his own, but some tiny nagging doubt eased in his heart anyway.

"Admit what?" Fraser asked, like they taught Disingenuousness 101 at Mountie school.

"I never let you down."

"No, Ray. You never did." Warmth in his eyes, now, instead of fear; Fraser was always better at giving than he was at taking.

Well, Ray could work on that, now that the tension had eased some. "OK, then." He let himself fall forward, kissed Fraser hard and hungry, then said against his lips, "The family's in Florida, Dief's downstairs, and the neighbors are deaf. I wanna _hear_ you." Canting his hips to emphasize his point, he was rewarded with a long, low moan as Fraser's mouth fell slack under his. "Yeah," Ray said, a little dizzy. "Yeah. That's better."

Suddenly, there was way too much fabric between them; Ray sat up long enough to tug his own shirt off over his head, then shoved Fraser's undershirt up as far as he could, till it bunched underneath Fraser's arms where they were stretched out above him. Fraser's chest was pale and hard, his nipples dusky pink contrast, and Ray let his fingers wander slowly, exploring.

"Beautiful," he heard himself say, and felt his face heat instantly; that wasn't the kind of thing a guy said to another guy. But when he dared a glance at Fraser's face, his friend was staring at him with so much naked want that Ray felt the shock of it from the back of his neck all the way down to his groin. _What the hell am I getting into?_ he wondered briefly, but it was Fraser, and Ray'd never managed to care all that much what Fraser got him into, so he just replaced his fingers with his mouth, savored Fraser's taste, sweat-salty and laced with the scent of his rough, standard-issue soap.

Fraser was still a little quieter than Ray would have liked, but at least he was letting go a bit now, gasps and inarticulate noises deep in his throat, and Fraser inarticulate was something Ray thought he could get used to. Besides, Ray was a cop, trained to notice details, and each small sound was sweeter for being so hard-won. When Ray's mouth reached the neat brown wool of Fraser's pants, he dipped his tongue underneath the waistband and got a groan; when he moved further down, enough so he could mouth Fraser's cock through the thick fabric, he got a choked "oh, _God_ ," that felt like he'd just won the lottery. Grinning—smirking, to tell the truth—he slipped the button on Fraser's pants, used the restless, urgent motion of Fraser's hips to help him ease down the pants and the boxers beneath, until his partner was naked in front of him, flushed and hard against the milky skin of his own stomach.

Ray's mouth damn near watered at the sight.

He was just about to dive in for his first taste when a thought occurred to him. "Hey," he said, scraping his fingernails lightly against Fraser's hip to get his attention.

Fraser shifted a little, muttered, "Unh," with his eyes still closed and something perilously near a pout twisting his pretty mouth. And fuck it, Ray was _definitely_ smirking now.

"Hey," Ray went on, "I think your heart rate's getting a little bit fast, here, Benny." He patted Fraser's chest, where he could, actually, feel the strong and rapid thud against his hand. "Maybe you should try your Mountie humming thing, slow it down a little."

Fraser did look down at him then, his eyes wide and his mouth half-open in an expression that shouted _You have got to be fucking kidding me_ as clearly as if it was their own private semaphore.

Well, Ray wasn't kidding. OK, he did spare a thought to wonder if he was going to hell for torturing a friend, but then he figured he was probably going to hell anyway for sucking his partner's cock, and besides, Fraser had been torturing him for years, he thought he deserved a few seconds. "I'm serious, Benny," he said firmly. "I'm not moving a muscle until you give it a shot. You can do it with a bomb strapped to your chest, this should be no problem, right?"

Fraser gave him a pleading look and Ray almost, _almost_ gave in, then a stubborn, heated determination swallowed up the pleading and Fraser closed his eyes again, dropped his head to his chest and took a deep breath.

"Hummmmmmmm—"

Ray shook his head a little, impressed in spite of himself, and then just ran his tongue along the underside of Fraser's cock in a long, slow lick.

"—mmmmmmmmm- _agh!_ " Fraser broke off with a stuttering cry, the first time all night he'd raised his voice loud enough to be heard outside the room. Ray hoped that Dief, selectively deaf as he seemed to be, could tell the difference between a panicked, I-need-help cry and an I'm-getting-laid-and-it-feels-amazing cry, then realized that Fraser probably hadn't had nearly enough of the second kind of cry in his life, and he rubbed his right hand over Fraser's chest again, soothing now.

"That's good, Benny, that's real good," he murmured, slicking his other hand with spit. He didn't want to tease anymore, just wanted to make Fraser feel good, as good as possible. It had been a while since he'd been with a guy, but some things were like riding a bike, and without any more preamble, he gripped the base of Fraser's cock with his spit-slippery hand and sucked as much as he could into his mouth.

 _"Ray,"_ Fraser half-shouted, his hips jerking up off the bed. Ray could hear the wooden slats of the headboard creaking, feel Fraser's stomach muscles twisting under his cheek. He pushed down a little with his mouth and left hand, till Fraser was flat on his back again, then moved his head slowly, up and down, experimenting. Fraser was hot and velvet in his mouth; Ray let his tongue explore every crease and crevice, testing each flavor. It wasn't long before Fraser's chest was heaving, the muscles of his thighs tense against Ray's ribs, his voice ragged and chanting Ray's name like it was a code he never wanted to forget. Ray's head was spinning, his heart full, and he needed to see, to _know_ , so he dragged his mouth away, ignoring Fraser's sharp noise of loss and surprise.

He slid quickly up his friend's body, letting his left hand take over the rhythm where his mouth had left off, buried his right hand in the sweat-damp hair at Fraser's temple. Fraser's eyelids fluttered, and then his eyes were on Ray's, bright, burning blue, the most beautiful thing Ray had ever seen in his entire fucking life.

"Ray—" Fraser gasped, for the hundredth time, and Ray smiled, not bothering to hide anything now.

"I know, Benny," he murmured, only vaguely aware of what he was saying, "I know, come on, I got you, I'm right here, _ti penso sempre_ , Benny, _non posso piu_ , come on, just—"

Fraser's whole body shuddered, and he leaned up to press his open mouth to Ray's just as he came, warm and thick and unsteady, over Ray's hand.

When Fraser's head dropped back to the bed, Ray nuzzled into the hot, damp space where Fraser's neck met his shoulder, his hand gentle on Fraser's softening cock, drawing out the sensation as long as he could while Fraser's body jerked with the occasional aftershock. With his ear pressed to Fraser's collarbone, he could hear his friend's heart thundering. When the last of the tension had drained from his body, Fraser shifted his arm against Ray's head with an impatient noise, nudging him out of his resting place so their mouths could meet for a messy, lingering kiss.

After they broke apart, Ray rested his forehead against Fraser's and just breathed with him, blissed out and exhausted and half-surprised he hadn't come, himself. He was still hard, though, pressed against the zipper of his slacks; he figured he'd do something about that at some point, but at the moment he was pretty happy to just enjoy the fruits of his labors.

Right up until Fraser shifted underneath him, sliding one solid thigh against Ray's length, and whispered, "Ray."

Fraser had a pretty damn sexy voice under ordinary circumstances—Ray was convinced it was the only way the Mountie got people to sit still long enough for the Inuit Guilt Whammy—but now, gravelly and well-fucked and shot through with unmistakable lust, it was just… it was fucking unfair, was what it was. Ray went from "enjoying the fruits of his labors" to "pleasegoddon'tstop" in about half a second. "Ray," Fraser repeated.

"Yeah?" Ray managed.

Fraser slid against him again. "I'd hate to damage this very fine headboard, Ray, but I'm afraid that if you don't untie me, I might not be able to—"

"Oh, _Christ_ ," Ray groaned, shifting up on one knee to fumble at the twisted suspenders around Fraser's wrists. Fraser took advantage of the change in position to draw an intricate pattern on Ray's ribs with his tongue. As soon as the straps loosened, Fraser tore his hands free, used them to yank Ray's head to his. Ray found himself on his back before he had time to think, Fraser's tongue buried in his mouth and Fraser's strong fingers stroking him roughly through the fabric of his slacks. Fraser, focused, was a force of nature—their first time had been a lightning storm, brief and stunning, but this was more like a flood, rising fast, swamping Ray so that he couldn't breathe and couldn't really bring himself to care.

It had been a long day, and he'd been keyed up in one way or another for most of it so his stamina was shot to hell, but he struggled to hold on so that Fraser could keep touching him, keep being there with him like there was no world outside. He guessed he shouldn't have been surprised that Fraser was as good at sex as he was at everything else, but half-drunken fumbling in Fraser's kitchen was one thing and it was another thing entirely to feel him popping open the button of Ray's slacks, tugging at the zipper, shoving Ray's boxers down over his hips in a cool, smooth slide of silk while his mouth seared an uneven path along the side of Ray's neck. And yeah, Ray had fantasized about this kind of thing more than once—in the fourth hour of a stakeout with Fraser loose-limbed and smiling in the seat next to him, or in the dark privacy of his room in the middle of the night with his cock in his hand and his heart in his throat—but his imagination hadn't done a damn thing to prepare him for this, Fraser smearing one calloused hand in the come still glistening on his stomach and then closing the slick fingers around Ray's cock like a brand.

Sound tore out of Ray's throat, and it didn't matter how badly he wanted to hold on—four, five strokes and he was lost, coming hard, dizzy and drowning, with only Fraser's heartbeat anchoring him where it pounded against his chest.

Afterwards, the world trickled back slowly, like puzzle pieces: Fraser's breath against his neck, Fraser's forearm heavy and sticky across his stomach, Fraser's scent filling his nose, soap and sweat and sex. Ray breathed it all in. When he could move again, he smoothed a hand up and down Fraser's arm, tracing the long lines of muscle, smiling when his partner made a happy, humming sound in his ear.

"These were new slacks," Ray said finally, his mouth against Fraser's temple. "Armani." He couldn't tell if the stains were from him or from Fraser; he hoped it was both.

"I know," Fraser replied. "I'm very sorry, Ray." He didn't look sorry, though; in fact, he looked pretty damn pleased with himself.

Well, Ray could give him that one. "I gotta say, of all the ways you've ruined my clothes? This is definitely my favorite," he admitted, grinning, and Fraser laughed, actually laughed, bright and loose and loud enough that joy stabbed sharp into Ray's heart. He leaned forward, licked and nibbled his way into Fraser's mouth for a lazy kiss. "This is good, right?" he said when they broke apart, awkward and a little shy but unable to keep the stupid smile off his face.

"Yeah," Fraser answered, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. "I think this is very good."

"Good," Ray said softly. Then, "This doesn’t get you off the hook, though. If we're gonna do this— _especially_ if we're gonna do this—your enemies are gonna be my enemies. And if you're jumping into stuff, I'm not gonna be behind you—I'm gonna be next to you. _Capisce?_ "

Fraser half-smiled, dropped his eyes to a spot somewhere around Ray's clavicle. "I worked alone for a long time, Ray. Sometimes by necessity, but almost always by choice." He lifted a shoulder. "It was… easier."

"Yeah." Ray got that; he'd always preferred solo work, himself, which was why he'd been on his own in that cell when Fraser had marched in and blown his cover all those months ago.

"But now…" Fraser looked up at him through thick eyelashes, as uncertain as Ray had ever seen him. "Now I wonder if perhaps I just hadn't found the right partner."

Ray swallowed hard. Yeah, Fraser was a crack shot, all right, and he had Ray dead to rights. And the only way to respond to that without sacrificing both their manly dignity was to hook one hand around the back of Fraser's neck and try to pour everything he didn't know how to say into a long, hard kiss.

Fortunately, Fraser was fluent in several languages; he was smiling when he pulled back, his eyes as brilliant and warm as the sun after a storm.

"You scared the crap out of me today," Ray told him, his voice hoarse, tangling his fingers in the short hair at Fraser's neck and tugging a little.

"I know," Fraser said, looking genuinely contrite this time. But after a few seconds, though his expression remained innocent, a glint started smoldering slowly in his eyes. The kind of glint that Ray thought he'd like to see a lot more often. "Perhaps I can make it up to you," Fraser suggested.

Ray grinned. "Yeah, Benny. I'm pretty sure that you can."


End file.
